Wide Awake
by ForsakingSilence
Summary: Back in Storybrooke, Emma and Hook spend an evening alone during a thunderstorm at a closed Granny's. An evening that Emma won't soon forget. Based on an interpretation of the Katy Perry song, "Wide Awake." *Recommend listening to the song*
1. In The Dark

**Chapter 1**

'_Yeah, I was in the dark, I was falling hard, with an open heart...'_

Wide awake, Emma Swan stared at the ceiling. She was back. She could hardly believe it. The days spent trekking through the Enchanted Forest, and her return home seemed like a bizarre dream. It was going to take her time to sort everything out. And right now she couldn't sleep a wink. The house was far too quiet. Every creak and groan of the old stone building was amplified, and the tap of the ancient heating pipes irritated her. Ever since Mary Margaret (her newfound mother) had left to move in with David Nolan (her newfound father) she had been lonely.

Or maybe guilty?

No, it was definitely lonely.

Nighttime was the worst. During the day, she found escape in her work as the town Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine. At night, with the paperwork done and her badge laid to rest beside her gun on the dresser top, the heavy silence settled in on her. Evenings spent home alone, were like a hangman's noose slowly choking the life out of her.

_And why are you alone, Emma?_

She rolled over under the fluffy white comforter. Had she said alone? Emma realized she overlooked the annoying inner voice that plagued her constantly. Another reason she hated going home to an empty house. No one to distract her from herself. The whole situation felt eerily familiar. She once spent eleven months, just her and her accusing thoughts, and it almost wrecked her life.

_But you weren't alone then, you had Henry._

Could she count a fetus growing in her belly as a companion? Emma pondered this. She remembered the cell. Four walls, a barred window, a cot, and a toilet –her entire world as days turned to weeks and weeks to months. The food sucked, the inmates were bitches, and prison guards looked like souped-up schoolmarms with the personalities of dead fish. And she? She was the worst of them; a seventeen year old, pregnant mother, languishing in self-doubt. What an environment to nurture a child in the womb.

No, she hadn't been alone. Emma disliked agreeing, but it was true.

After Neal's betrayal punched a hole in her heart, she was free falling in the dark. How could she have been so wrong about him? At first, the tiny plus symbol on the pregnancy test seemed immaterial. When her abdomen began to swell against the elastic waistband of her prison-uniform pants, the immaterial became real. She called it Kid, and found comfort talking to it late at night. Kid was her safety net. Without the baby, Emma dreaded to think what she might have become. Orphaned by her parents, and now abandoned by her true love, she convinced herself the fault was her. She was drowning in sea of inferiority and hate. Kid saved her. The day she felt him kick inside her was the moment she found direction. She was a victim of selfish people, but her baby deserved the best chance she could give it! Self pity was out.

_Is that why you gave him up?_

"Yes," Emma said inwardly. She told that lie so many times the answer came out smooth as butter. It was a lie. Was it not? If not, then why else had she wormed her way into Henry's life again?

_You need someone, more than you want to admit. _

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She put herself back together during those months in the correctional facility. The personal promise of never trusting anyone but herself aided in cementing the pieces of her heart into place. Kid (Henry) was the only chink in that stone wall. She gave him away then because otherwise her newly constructed shell would have crumbled.

_But that's selfish. _

"No." She said. "_Selfish_ would have been keeping him when I had no means to support him. I couldn't take care of him. I wasn't a mother!"

_Maybe he could have cared for you? _

"I don't need anyone to take care of me."

_You'll never know at this rate_. _You keep slamming the doors on anyone who could._

"Not true, not on Mary Margaret—Snow—Mom!"

_Is that why you told Mulan to cut down the beanstalk?_

"Hey, I was giving her the best chance to get home!"

_Is that why you left Killian?_

Emma's eyes flew open, more wide awake than ever. Her hand shot out to grasp a set of car keys on the nightstand beside her bed. Sleep? Screw it.

* * *

**TBC, Thanks for reading! I own nothing but the writing, by a fan for fans :)**


	2. What You See

**Chapter 2**

'_And now it's clear to me, that everything you see, ain't always what it seems...'_

A storm was brewing. Emma slammed the door shut on her yellow Volkswagen bug and looked up at the night sky. She could barely see the stars through the gathering veil of dark grey clouds. The wind kicked a swirl of dried fall leaves ahead of it along the empty main street. It was roughly 9:30. Most of the Storybrooke residents had already tucked in for the evening. Only a handful of loners such as herself could still be found congregating at the local diner.

Pocketing her keys, Emma jogged across the road and hopped up onto the sidewalk. Granny's was open till ten, which meant she had a solid half-hour to get moderately plastered. Not too wasted, just enough to muffle the voice in her head. Doing it at home in her current state of mind would end badly. She experienced that once or twice, and going small appliance shopping with a hang-over because she took a knife to both the blender and the coffee machine was not as fun as it sounded. Mary Margaret got off easy the day she went after the toaster on a bottle of McCutcheon's.

The string of light bulbs dangling trellis-to-eves across the front of the diner glittered in the dark and swung slowly in the steady pre-storm breeze. The air felt charged, heavy. The leaves on the decorative trees nearby turned over; the tender undersides exposed, excited to be sated in the coming rain. Emma could have been controlling the weather with her emotions. She felt as tense and ready to explode.

Just then the loud crackle and hiss of electricity erupted from behind her culminating in a sharp pop. Emma turned around. The streetlamp above her car shorted-out with a shower of sparks, but she barely noticed. Her eyes locked on the tall man leaning, hands in coat pockets, against her driver side door like nobody's business. He was watching her. She could feel it.

Damned light. She took a step forward, trying to see his face. The blown streetlamp made it impossible. She was about to return to her car and demand an explanation when the diner door opened and a patron stumbled out, knocking into her from behind.

"Watch it, buddy!" Emma said, moving clear of the walking Jim Beam. She looked at him. Apparently someone else had beaten her to the (spiked) punch.

By the time she glanced back across the street, the shadowed stranger had gone.

Emma glared after the little man who had pushed her, wanting to flash her badge and drag his drunken ass to jail. It would serve him right for distracting her. She decided to forgo the arrest and chalk the stranger up to the weird world of Storybrooke only because she had a mission to complete. Operation Get Pissed was waiting.

Inside, the atmosphere of Granny's was far more serene. Walking to the counter, Emma selected a stool and sat down. The rattle of the entrance bell alerted her presence to Ruby, a salacious werewolf-girl with long brown hair and a wide infectious smile, who turned from polishing the prized milkshake maker behind the counter to greet her.

"Uh-oh, I know that look."

Emma set her elbows on the Formica countertop. "Can I get a whiskey, please?"

Ruby rested her blue-checkered towel beside a napkin dispenser and pulled a tumbler glass and a liquor bottle off a shelf.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

Taking the glass, Emma motioned to Ruby to leave the bottle. The whiskey stung her tongue and throat, but even after her first and second swallows her thoughts remained on Hook.

Three and four went down the same way.

Damn pirate.

_Is that why you left Killian?_

She was drinking too fast. Her body was relaxing, but her mind bounced the question about inside her head like a racquetball, deepening her guilt. Why did she leave him? Emma had asked herself that every day since she had chained him to the wall and left him atop the beanstalk. She was so certain of him—of his character and motives—when she had made the decision to leave him. Then she'd looked into his beautiful blue eyes and everything changed. He had told the truth, and it all came crashing down around her like a house of cards. She had been counting on that lie.

The doorbell jangled.

She grappled with herself. He should have lied. He was a pirate for crap's sake. What else did they do, but steal, drink, and lie? Hell, that's what men did in general! But not Hook. He could steal and drink himself into oblivion. Tell a lie when she expected him too? That he wouldn't do. And it forced her perspective, shifting how she saw him in four stupid words:

"Emma, look at me."

She jumped in her skin. His voice was not a phantom of her imagination. Emma turned her head. Her eyes went wide with shock. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

"Hook." She said his name in a whisper. It was all she could manage to shove passed the knot in her throat.

He stood, hand and hook in the pockets of a black pea coat he wore, the collar turned up. His existence mocked her.

"Hello, love. Did you miss me?"

* * *

**TBC, Thanks for reading!**


	3. It's Too Late

**Chapter 3**

'_Yeah, I'm born again, out of the lion's den…and it's too late, the story's over now…'_

She had to be dreaming. Emma slid off the stool, proving she could stand on her feet despite her legs feeling like jelly. The floor felt solid. No danger of it splitting in two and gulping her oyster-style into an abyss. She wasn't that lucky. But Hook in Storybrooke? Here with her? That couldn't be real.

Standing in front of her in a coat and jeans without his signature black leather and Mediterranean style cross necklaces, he looked surprisingly normal. Still shockingly gorgeous, but not unlike a person she could envision walking down the street with an iPod and coffee. Surrounded by Granny's retro-chic interior, he was more the blacksmith Killian Jones she had first met, and less the notorious Captain Hook she had left behind.

She was assessing him too long, and he noticed.

"See something you want, Swan?"

Emma's temper flared. However good he looked in everyday clothing, he was an ass either way. "How did you get here?"

Hook took a step closer. She forced herself to stay put. "Do you really want to know?" He said, the question a dare.

Emma wanted to hit him square in his smug face. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking again. "No. I don't care."

"We both know that's a lie, Emma. We both know you're here because you can't sleep at night for want of me."

"You bastard."

He lifted an eyebrow, not amused. "And yet, I'm not the one who abandoned someone else on top of a sodding beanstalk, now am I?"

Emma squirmed beneath Hook's intense gaze; no more in control of herself than a helpless worm before a hungry bird. When he looked at her, he saw straight to her core. He never judged what he discovered there, he understood it. The idea of such intimacy sent a heady mix of exhilaration and terror racing along her synapses. A far better rush than any alcohol could ever give. If she wanted another reason for why she chained him up, this was it.

"Is everything okay, guys?" Ruby asked.

"Just fine," Hook said. He flashed Ruby a knock-out grin. "We're old friends, aren't we?" He directed the question at Emma. The smile on his face persisted as his attention returned to her, but the grandeur did not reach his eyes. Instead, she saw deep hurt and near empathy staring down at her. She blanched. Hate and rage she could handle, but this…? This socked her where it pained the most –her guilty conscience.

And _that_ made her angry.

"Stay the hell away from me." She said and shoved passed him.

They clipped shoulders hard. Emma kept going out the diner door, trying to ignore the tremor their contact enacted in her rigid body. The man was an earthquake in her bones. Once she was outside, the cool air struck her warm face like a wet towel. She wanted to open her leather jacket to the cold, to release the heat building up underneath. What made her hot? Her anger? The booze? Or perhaps the reason she always felt weak-kneed whenever Killian was near. Killian? Where did that come from?! She reached her car. Suddenly, a metal hook snagged her right arm from behind.

"Emma, wait!"

Pissed that he had followed, Emma went with her first instinct. Whirling around to face him, her left arm coiled backward; her fingers balling into a sound fist.

Hook blocked the punch. Catching her fist in his palm in one fluid movement, he prevented a would-be broken nose. "I'm impressed, but it won't be that easy, love."

"I told you to stay away!"

"No."

A shiver trickled down Emma's spine. There was blatant authority in his tone that reminded her why the stories were true. Captain Hook had her by the arms, gently and firmly pushing her against the canary VW; the blacksmith Killian Jones a faint memory.

He leaned in. "You and I are going to have a talk."

Talk? Emma stared at him. Even in the dark he was close enough for her to see every inch of his handsome face: those eyebrows, the little scar on his cheek, the stubble on his chin, his lips; not to mention the way the wind played with his hair like fingers running back and forth. Talk. Who could talk? She could hardly remember her own name with him so close. Aside from one hand and a hook he was barely touching her at all. She recalled their impromptu hug atop the beanstalk. She knew why she fought him then. The act of clutching him in a panic went from a necessary reaction to a pleasurable experience far too quickly. Being pressed against him; fitting into his arms like two broken pieces of a mirror fitted together at the seams, scared the living daylights out of her. And she liked it. Emma was glad he was keeping his distance. She wasn't so sure she could trust herself to resist again.

"You think I don't know?" Hook said his voice an octave lower. Gooseflesh crawled up her arms. He unsettled her in ways she had not experienced in a long time.

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Know what?"

"What it is to hold something close and realize it's the one thing you've been searching for, but you hadn't the faintest idea you were missing it at the start? What it's like to understand yourself because someone else looked clear into you and never doubted."

His hand found its way to her hip. Emma tensed. He was a seine: drawing her in, enveloping her slowly. She couldn't stop it. She didn't want to. He pressed his fingertips against the skin above her belt, the tip of his hook traced ever-so-lightly along her right side. She could feel him under the hem of her shirt, and she knew she was not dreaming. He was real. She had the chills to prove it.

And he was here.

"You never doubted me, Emma."

His words were soft and compassionate. The gravity of his statement hurt worse than an open wound; plunging his hook into her gut would have been kinder.

"How did—?"

"I told you once, darling: open book."

Bullshit. Her anger returned, strengthening her walls. No one was going to read her like a freaking paperback novel! Never mind if what he said was true. Emma slapped his hand away from her body, peeved she had allowed him so much freedom in such personal space. She'd practically given him permission! Talk her ass. What game was he playing?

Planting both hands on his chest, she gave him a shove. "What is this?! Some kind if sick, twisted, attempt at revenge?"

Propelled by her thrust, Hook stepped back. He looked surprised by her sudden outburst.

"I mean, what the hell, Hook?" She continued on without giving him a chance to respond. "What are you _doing_ here? How did you even _find_ me?! I'm not going to apologize for what I did to you and feeling me up isn't going to change that. You're sucking wind pal."

Turning away, Emma yanked open her car. Sliding into the driver seat, she slammed the door with enough force to shake the chassis. She was fuming. Ten years. That was how long it had taken her to drag herself out of danger. She was a new person. Not the seventeen year old who practically sold her naive heart for a keychain and a beachfront home in Tallahassee. Whatever missing piece he was bullshitting about, she did not need it. She needed no one to complete her. That chapter of her life ended long ago. She worked too hard to survive on her own for it all to be undone so easily.

Emma went for her keys. Her pocket was empty. Her margin for a quick escape was dwindling. Desperate, she searched the car floor and the passenger seat –nothing.

"Did you lose something?" Hook said. His voice distorted. Emma refused to acknowledge; until he started tapping on the glass with his hook.

Rolling down the window, she glared out at him. "You scratch my car I'll shoot you."

"Are you ready to talk, yet?"

"Get lost."

Hook ignored her put-off. "If feeling you up means what I think, you quit misread my intentions. Trust me lass, you would notice a difference." He held up his hand. Her missing car keys unfurled from his clenched fist.

Crap. Emma groaned. The fight went out of her. He knew she would run. How did he know? His hand, her hip –the bastard picked her pocket! She could scarcely believe the sheer chutzpah of this guy! More unbelievably still was the fact she had fallen for it like a led balloon.

What a neat little lass she was.

Damn pirate.

The rakish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth all but raised the hair on the back of her neck. "Because if I ever _did_ feel you up, Emma. You would be incapable of saying no."

He wasn't lying.

Hook bent down and leaned his forearms against the open window. She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes glued to the windscreen. Reaching inside, he tucked her hair behind her ear. She denied him any response; his touch burned her cheek.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"As much as I appreciate a rousing storm, I think it would be safer if we continued this discussion indoors. Don't you agree?"

This time, Emma looked at him; her gaze unyielding.

It was storming like a bitch already.

Even he could see it. "I'll make a deal with you." Hook glanced up at the clock tower in the center square, the glowing face visible from all angles. "We talk, and when the clock strikes twelve, if you still desire me gone, I'll leave you alone forever."

Emma knew she didn't have a choice.

* * *

**TBC, Thanks for reading!**


	4. I Wish I Knew

**Chapter 4**

'_I wish I knew then, what I know now…'_

Ruby gave Hook a scathing onceover when the two walked back into Granny's. "Should I throw him out?"

The question was for Emma, but Hook beat her to the mark. "Do try, darling."

"Excuse me?" Ruby was unimpressed. The difference in her was incredible since the memories of her prior life had returned. Not too long ago she would have been in Hook's lap at the drop of a hat, tonight she was ready to collar him and toss him in the diner freezer.

Emma liked that idea. "No, it's fine."

"Please, be my guest." Hook said. "Don't be shy, I'm not."

Ruby opened her mouth to reply, but Emma intervened. "Relax, he isn't worth it." She turned to the table closest them. Inset beside the left front window; it was empty and clean, and seated four. She once spilled cocoa on her sweater here. Yanking out a chair, she motioned to the other three. "Hook, sit your ass down and shut up."

He looked at her. His expression said he found the way she put him in his place sexy. She disliked that look. It shifted the balance and gave her an unusual feeling of sensual power over him. By the current arc of his eyebrows, and the slight, curious, twitch of his jaw, she could tell he sensed it too. This revelation thrilled her to distraction. Like a switch flipped on in her head, her instincts suddenly kicked into overdrive. Emma struggled not to blush when she realized she had begun pondering the whereabouts of her hot pink mini-dress and stacked heels.

Hook must have read her thoughts. His appreciative glance turned to a smirk, and she lost the advantage. "After you, _Captain_ Swan," He gestured to the table with a flourish.

Emma glared at him, but obeyed; she suffered in dignified silence as he made an effort to push her chair in like a true gentleman. She watched him choose the seat across from hers. His back to the window, he began to unfasten the front of his coat. The fingers of his good hand nimbly released each button from its hole.

If Fate ever made her a captain, she would lock Hook in the brig and throw away the key. She wouldn't have to worry about his Miranda Rights either, because if she were a fairytale sea captain, and not law enforcement, there wouldn't be any.

Ruby hovered close. "Can I get you guys anything?" She asked, interrupting Emma's mental plan of revenge.

"No, thank you." Hook said. He pulled a flask out of a breast pocket inside his open coat, indicating he preferred BYOR: bring your own rum.

"No." Emma said. She could use a stiff drink right now, but considering her emotions waffled between the urge to either pistol whip or kiss Hook, sober seemed the wisest way to face him.

Ruby pulled a pen out from behind her ear and scribbled on the waitress pad in her hand. Emma suddenly found a torn slip of paper being shoved under her nose. She took it, and Ruby left. Jotted amid the item and price margins of the receipt form was a note:

_If you need me, holler! I'll kick his pretty rear end up Main Street. _

_Need me_. Emma clamped down on the inner voice threatening to resurface.

"What was that?" Hook said.

Emma crumpled the paper and slipped it in her jacket pocket, "Bar tab."

The storm was growing closer. Another rumble of thunder echoed in the mountains outside of town; reverberating off the window glass. As if in response, Granny's last two costumers paid their checks and departed. Their exit left a trail of cold air behind. Between the blinds, Emma saw them walk briskly away in separate directions; no doubt trying to make it home ahead of the threatening rain.

Home. That's where she should be. Home and asleep, in a bed two-sizes-too-big for one lonely person; not wide awake in a vacant diner with Hook.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

He was speaking to her. Emma kept her eyes trained out the window. She watched a newspaper tumbling along the sidewalk, caught in the wind against its will.

"What?" She said when the silence grew noticeable. It was far too quiet in the diner. The CD player was off, and the jukebox in the back corner sat stone still. With no other patrons aside from themselves, the only other thing she could hear was the clink of coins as Ruby counted out the register drawer.

Hook rested his arms on the tabletop, marginally closing the space between them. "You know I love a challenge, but a conversation generally runs smoother when both parties participate."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought you could read me like an open book? Besides, you're the one who wanted to talk."

_And you promised you would. _

Crap. The last thing she needed was a cameo appearance from her inner pain-in-the-ass.

"I did not!" Emma said in her head. "I didn't have a choice."

_You had a choice. Not laying him out cold and taking the keys means you promised. It wouldn't have been that hard. A good shot with the car door and he'd have hit the pavement: problem solved. So, why didn't you do it?_

"I'm not here to hurt you, Emma." Hook said.

His words blindsided her, postponing her private bitch fight. She looked at him. Where had she heard that before? Then it all came rushing back clear as crystal –a bench and beer. She had first heard it sitting in the park afterhours with Neal Cassidy; the date was her penance for stealing his stolen car. His idea of drinks had been similar to Hooks; strictly bring your own; except bringing his own meant pinching a six pack from the local Wine & Spirits first. She remembered their conversation like it was yesterday:

"I'm not here to hurt you, you know."

"I still think you're a pervert."

"But a very cute one, don't you think?"

"Seriously, that's your best line. Does it ever work?"

"You tell me."

She frowned at the memory.

"Swan?"

Emma realized she had left Hook hanging. For a brief second, she felt obliged to share; since he was so damn interested in talking. She almost told him about the man she had loved too deeply for so long; the man who had punctured her heart, leaving behind a debilitation, not unlike a missing hand. Then her brain rebooted. Sharing wasn't her thing. She had been down that road before with poor results. If she knew then, what she knew now, things would have been different.

This time, things would be different. "Why _are_ you here, Hook?" She snapped, bothered by her own vulnerability. He had an infuriating way of making her want to confess all her personal secrets.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets." He said and sat back in his chair.

Emma arched an eyebrow. "And just what is it you want?"

He seemed about to answer, when Ruby walked over dressed in a red hat and coat. "Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt, but I've gotta close up and get home."

For one glorious moment, Emma saw a way out. But Hook wasted no time raining on her parade. "Shall we continue this elsewhere?" He looked at her expectantly as if waiting for a suggestion. "Your home perhaps?"

She thought about her home, how empty and cold it was. She thought about her bed too big for one person; about the two sets of everything Mary Margaret had left behind. About the dress that rocked her body, and the heels that made her legs look a mile long. She imagined herself opening the door and welcoming him in; catching a whiff of spiced rum and sea salt as she let him pass inside ahead of her.

Hell. She was not about to permit him within ten feet of her apartment building. Allowing Killian (Hook!) inside would be like the Titanic bringing along its own iceberg. He wasn't even the problem. She couldn't trust herself.

Well, that was a new feeling.

_No, Emma. It really isn't._

Oh, right, the beanstalk.

Ruby (bless her) caught the hesitation and jumped to the rescue. "You know what; you two can stay here as long as you want."

Emma's panic subsided. Granny's was neutral territory. "Are you sure?"

Ruby nodded. "Yeah, just kill the lights when you leave and lock the front door. The breakers are in the backroom. Switch them all to off."

"Much appreciated." Emma said. No one knew how much.

Ruby changed the open/closed sign accordingly. "No problem. If you can't trust your Sheriff, who can you trust? Good night." She frowned at Hook on her way out; the door bell chiming on her heels.

Then they were alone.

"Sheriff?" He asked.

Emma nodded. "Yes, it's my job here in Storybrooke."

"And what, pray tell, does a Sheriff do?"

"Mainly, I get to wear handcuffs and a gun around town. Sometimes, I lock people up in my jail, but only when they've been bad and need punishment." Emma winced. She had meant to be sarcastic, but it came out far too suggestive. "And I eat donuts." She added in an attempt to recover.

Hook's blue eyes teased her. "Ah, so you are a Captain then, and a right dastardly one at that it would seem."

Emma chuckled for the first time in his presence. "Still wish to cross me?"

"More so than ever," Hook slammed her with a beguiling grin. "Swan, is that a smile? I was beginning to think you didn't have one."

"A momentary lapse of judgment, I assure you."

"A pity, lass, it suits you."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Liar."

Hook half rose from his chair and leaned across the table. Emma froze. Her heart double-timed as his voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I am being quite honest with you. You have an enticing smile, Emma. Use it." He winked. "And _I_ know you like mine."

Damn pirate. Emma shoved away from him; chair legs squeaking on the linoleum floor. She needed space. She needed a focus. She didn't need his cheeky flirting.

She needed a drink.

Emma stood, shedding her jacket on the table. Sweeping her long blonde hair up into a ponytail, she secured it with a rubber band from her wrist.

"Where are you going?" Hook asked, rising to follow.

"Hot chocolate," Emma said. She stepped behind the diner counter. Operation Instant Swiss Miss was a welcome pretext to put distance between them.

Outside, rain began to fall. The first droplets spattered the windowpanes, soon becoming streams that raced along the glass fighting for the lead.

* * *

**TBC: Thank you everyone for reading, and for your amazing reviews! :D**


	5. Dive In, Bow Down

**Chapter 5**

'_Wouldn't dive in, wouldn't bow down…'_

Neal was her first: her first kiss, her first love, her first everything. She gave it all to him free of charge because she thought it was true love, the kind from a fairytale. Her heart and soul trembled when he uttered the words, 'I want _you_.' And she believed him with her whole being. Up until the moment he skipped town with twenty thousand dollars in high-end wristwatches, leaving her to the cops in a crappy-ass parking garage. Even for a short time after, she still believed he would come back for her. He never did.

Emma stirred the cocoa mix into two mugs with a spoon, highly aware that Hook was standing directly behind her. He was so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. It tickled her skin and played with stray sprigs of her blonde hair. If she had not been wide awake before, she was now.

How long was it, since a man evoked such strong emotions inside her? Was it Graham? No, she felt more sympathy for him than anything else. August? No, he was more a friend. Not since Neal, had she experienced this level of yearning. But with Hook, it was still somehow different. What she underwent with him seemed magnified times ten.

She felt him brush the tip of his hook across the back of her neck, gently moving her ponytail to one side. Emma ceased stirring the cocoa. She wished she could tell him to stop. But she didn't want him too. In the thick silence, she could hear her own breath quicken; growing heavy with anticipation. She forgot what she was doing. Her hand clutched the spoon. She felt him shifting behind her, lowering his head. Her body tensed, waiting. Why was he moving so damn slow?

Delivering Henry alone had been the hardest thing she ever endured. She swore never to fall in love again after that. Love sucked. The foster couples she had lived with taught her there were no such things as a happy endings or perfect matches. Not one relationship she had witnessed in her life was encouraging. All she ever saw were two people struggling to change each other into what they wanted, failing miserably, and hating the other for it. They fought each other, not _for_ each other, and her relationship with Neal had ended in much the same way. He hadn't exactly watched her back. Being dependent was something she avoided repeating. Unfortunately, keeping men at a distance severely hampered her social life. For the past several years, the only dates she ever went on were honeytraps to secure bail jumpers for pay. Heaven knows she wasn't happy about being alone, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise. At least she was alone because she decided to be, not because anyone else made the decision for her. Not like before.

_You still need someone._

Hook kissed her nape. Emma's heart stopped. Her lips parted slightly in surprise. His hand grasped her stomach, pulling her in against him. She felt the back of her shoulders settle into his solid chest. He had taken off his bulky coat; leaving him in a fitted, black, long-sleeve tee. She recalled how he looked: every bit of his lean, muscled, frame hugged by the soft fabric, and she wanted to kill whoever he'd swiped that shirt from. He moved, kissing her again and again in light succession down the side of her neck. Each one more tantalizing to her senses than the first. Sheesh, was this man even real?! Emma struggled against the urge to close her eyes and puddle on the floor at his feet. She tried to remember how she had gotten herself into this situation. She intended to make freaking cocoa in order to stay away from him!

Then she recalled. He had joined her behind the counter, draping his coat on the counter top as she found a box of Nestle mix (not Swiss Miss) on a lower shelf.

"What is this, _hot chocolate_?"

"It's a drink." Emma said, "Made from chocolate powder, hot water, and milk."

Hook raised a disgusted eyebrow. "It sounds positively revolting. I do think a pint of rum would satisfy quicker."

"What, that rotgut? You're kidding." She proceeded to locate everything she needed, including, milk, whipped cream, a bag of marshmallows, and last but not least, cinnamon. Placing it all on the counter, she ripped open several packets of cocoa mix, and dumped the contents into the mugs. She began filling them with hot water from the dispenser on the sink.

He leaned against the stainless steel worktop behind her. Watching, arms folded. "Emma?" He said following a long pause. She could tell by the tone of his voice whatever he was about to ask, wasn't in her best interest.

"Do you hate me?"

She almost dropped the mug. "No, of course not," She realized, he must have noticed her efforts to avoid him as she moved about the confined space.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Cutting the faucet, Emma kept her back to him despite the question. "I'm concentrating." She lied, fussing with a spoon. How could she possibly tell him that whenever she looked into his eyes, she was in danger of revealing the heart she had taken so much time building a stone castle to protect?

Hook obviously didn't buy it. He tried again. "When we were up on the beanstalk, twice I was in danger, and twice you called out for me. Why? Did you care?"

Emma frowned. Why had she called out? She didn't know why. It seemed ridiculous to believe her fear of losing him had been anything more than just natural humanity. One human being rarely enjoyed seeing another get squashed by a falling giant or dropping rocks.

"I still needed you, Hook." She couldn't believe she had just put those words together in a sentence. "We hadn't gotten the compass yet."

"I see." He sounded disappointed. "Could you?"

"What?"

"Care?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you dead—"

"That's not what I meant."

Emma sighed. "I got burned once caring too much."

"Ah," He said, understanding. "Was it by the Love that makes you so perceptive?"

"Maybe."

Hook left his place and walked up behind her. Emma wondered what he would do, and was afraid he might not do it.

"Just because something happened once upon a time, doesn't mean it will again."

She snorted. "Yeah, well, prove it."

"Only if you want me too, do you want me?"

He purposefully left the second 'too' off, and it threw her. Did she want him? Her insides flopped around like a stranded fish, and she felt warm all over the place. Emma knew her physical answer was _yes_, but what was it emotionally? She promised herself she wouldn't dive into a relationship again. She was better on her own, but at the moment Hook was making her doubt her own judgment. Something he was good at doing.

He must have taken her silence as invitation. It was the only reason Emma could contrive that would have led to her current predicament. Granted, she had been in far more uncomfortable positions. Being slowly caressed by Killian (Hook, dammit) wasn't one of them, but it was by far the most dangerous.

The fact Emma found herself entertaining the idea to return the favor, snapped her back to reality. The moment of delicious, toe-curling, stimulation burst like a bubble. Like an angel with her wings clipped, she tumbled from her euphoric Cloud 9. The crash from the high drained her, forcing her to grab for a semblance of control. And she stopped him from going further. "Hook, please don't. Let me go."

He did, releasing her with an exasperated sigh, "Fine, but as I said before, love. Next time, don't stand on ceremony."

Emma blinked, bewildered by how quickly he could turn off his seductions. Her legs were still shaking!

"Fine," She said, feeling embarrassed. It pissed her off. "Here, have a marshmallow." She turned to face him squarely, holding out a jumbo-size puff. He didn't move. Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed his hook. "You eat it." She jabbed the marshmallow on the tip like a roasting skewer.

There was no chance she was going to bow down to Captain Hook and his five magic fingers and two enigmatic lips. Emma put the finishing touches on the hot chocolate; whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon. Hook was standing beside her now (chewing), and she handed him his mug. He took a tentative sip and appeared to approve of the flavor.

Emma contemplated what he said. Letting someone in once and a while, might not always send her to the ER with third degree. For example, getting to know Henry had so far turned out pretty well. She was smarter now; the chick with a flower tattoo long since departed. Hook challenged her, and kept her second guessing her ability to be impassionate and hardhearted. He made her want to prove, she could be around him and not repeat the past; to prove she wouldn't succumb to him so easily.

Hook was working on his second dram, when Emma came to her decision. "Hey, where's that rum?" She said, arching an eyebrow in his direction. "I hear it tastes great in a little hot chocolate."

He looked at her; a knowing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

**TBC; Thanks guys! You are all incredible :)**


	6. Gravity Hurts

**Chapter 6**

'_Gravity hurts…God knows I've tried, seeing the bright side…'_

"You're cheating."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm being resourceful."

"Walking up and sticking the dart into the dartboard and claiming a win, is not resourceful. It's cheating."

"I'm a pirate, love. Get used to it."

Emma put both hands on her hips and glared at Hook. Standing in front of the dartboard hanging on the wall, he looked back at her over his shoulder. He bit his bottom lip; wide eyed and feigning innocence. She could have punched him (for the millionth time). Only because his pout made her want to throw _him_ at the dartboard and kiss it gone. She re-imagined the phantom scrape of his scruffy face on her neck and desired payback. Although, she doubted Granny would appreciate a heated make-out on her delicate, woodsy, wallpaper.

Sheesh, Emma.

She guessed her thoughts were 90% a result of the booze she was drinking. After a couple spiked cocoas, she was working on a hang-over and a sugar high simultaneously. Hook's personal rum vanished quickly, forcing them to commandeer (his term, not hers) the diner's liquor supply. She was going to owe Granny one hell of a tab after this. She also found the 5-disc CD changer in the kitchen, and currently one of Ruby's mix CD's was projecting through the sound system in the dining room. Surprisingly, Hook liked the nation's top twenty.

At the moment, he was busy infuriating her; jamming a feathered dart into the heart of the deer photo at the center of the corkboard. The Eurhythmics _Sweet Dreams _crackled in the background. "There, I believe that makes me the victor."

Emma walked over and yanked it out. "Why don't you throw the thing how I showed you?" She returned to post, ready for her turn. The last ten minutes of explaining the rules to him wasted. He refused to play correctly.

Hook frowned. "Trust me. This is the best I can do."

"Oh, please. How bad could you possibly be?" She hurled the dart without a warning. He saw it at the last second and dodged aside. "Oops, sorry about that," Emma said, not entirely sure it was an accident. The alcohol made her moody. She took another drink before throwing her remaining darts. Both landed fairly accurate near the apathetic deer (practice pays-off).

"You know, I once stole things for a living, and I never cheated at games." She said, going to retrieve them.

Hook's eyebrows shot up, "Pardon, lass. Do you mind repeating?"

"I was a thief once."

"I thought my ears deceived me. Aren't you a Sheriff?"

"Yeah, but before I was a Sheriff, when I was a kid, I stole everything that wasn't tied down." Emma explained. "I even stole things that were stolen."

He looked at her; a blend of wonder and pride on his face. Emma was suddenly a new brand of equal. He wasn't the only badass in the room. And she felt a sense of satisfaction at telling him so. She held the darts out, "Your turn."

"I knew I liked you." He said and took them. Hook followed her to the wall booth they were using as home base; having abandoned the table by the window for one closer to the jukebox in the corner. He poured a little whiskey in his cocoa mug (without the cocoa) and downed it with ease.

Emma grabbed his arm when he finished; determined not to let him cheat again. He seemed more than happy to let her pull him into position, lining him up with the board.

"Now, throw."

Hook started to walk away. Emma snatched at the back of his shirt, halting him.

"Not so fast, buddy." She planted herself next to him to be sure he would behave. It was clear he didn't want to embarrass himself, and she was going to make it happen, "Throw it."

"No."

"Throw it, Hook."

He leaned over. Emma could smell a sweet tang on his breath as he drew close; a combination of what they had been drinking. She tried to remain indifferent as he shot her his sly, I'm-so-sexy-when-I-do-this, face. Heaven help her. He was.

"Persuade me, Swan." He said, in a wicked tone of voice.

Emma shot him her best not-on-your-life glare. She tried to ignore the odd flutter in her stomach. "Or I could just punch you in the face."

Hook nodded as if that somehow made sense. He sighed and straightened. "Sometimes it's difficult to fathom your father is Prince Charming."

Her parents? Had she told him about them? Emma was worried. The booze loosened her up a bit too much, and she was beginning to reveal herself. Hook lifted his hand and pretended to aim. "So, what drove you to thieve? Did you have a partner?"

Emma blinked. Shit. She had told him that too?! She swallowed passed the lump in her throat. She wanted to tell him more. She couldn't tell him more! Her eyes drifted to the tattoo on his forearm. He had pushed up his right sleeve to the elbow, and not for the first time that night she noticed the red heart on his skin.

"Nope, it's your turn to share. Who's Milah?"

Hook startled. He threw the dart. It missed the board completely. The moment would have been a serious one, had not the needle gone wide and stuck fast in the middle of a paper sign posted nearby. It read:

_If you hit this, please stop playing. Thank you, management_.

Despite everything, Emma burst out laughing. At first Hook appeared hurt, almost angry. Then something changed. He glanced from the waylaid dart to her; leaning against the booth for support, one arm wrapped about her waist. She was still laughing, and then he was too.

Emma never heard anything quite like his laugh. She expected it to be sardonic or sultry. What she got was boyish and flat out adorable. He chuckled in his throat, his teeth finding his lip again as he quirked an eyebrow. He looked at her, chagrined, his face portraying an underlying gentleness and honest sweetness she had only seen once prior; when he openly offered her his hand in trust. Before she ruined it all.

_See, you keep slamming to doors on anyone who could._

This sobered her instantly. "I'm sorry," She said.

"Don't be, lass," Hook smiled. "To be fairly honest, it was a bit of a crock wasn't it?"

Emma felt her chest clench. Realizing, that wasn't the reason she had apologized. "Uh, yeah," She said, blindly reaching for her mug and the bottle. Turning away from him, she maneuvered around tables and chairs until she returned to the counter. Sitting on one of the stools, she poured herself yet another drink. Why was it so hard to get numb?

The CD changer, must have been switching discs; because at that moment, the diner was silent. Only the rain slanting against the roof, stood out in the quiet, that, and Hook's voice.

"You never forget your first." He said, taking up a seat alongside her.

Emma glanced at him. "What?"

He stretched out his arm on the counter and tapped the tattoo with his hook, "Your first love."

"Oh," Emma went back to her mug. She felt a terrible ache inside her: guilt. She was wrong to ask him such a personal question. She knew how difficult it was for him to talk about his past. He had shown his true emotions up on that beanstalk, the first time she asked him. Like her, he was holding onto the memory of his first love with everything he had. Without it, what were they worth? The gravity of that thought hurt worse than the guilt.

_What are you worth to each other?_

A word came to mind, but she refused to think on it; opting to keep talking instead. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's alright." Hook said. He reached for the whiskey she'd brought with her. Resting his back against the counter, he took a swig straight from the bottle. Clearing his throat, he looked at the label. He wasn't reading it.

"I met Milah one night in port, a long time ago." He said after a pause. A new song started playing. Emma didn't recognize it. "She was so curious about life, so full of fire. She wanted to come with me on my ship and I couldn't deny her. How could I? She wanted to see the world; I was able to provide it. Hell, I felt like God around her. She knew so little, and I knew so much." A small smile traced his lips. "I didn't plan on falling in love with her." He took another drink. "I guess I didn't know as much as I thought."

Emma finished her draught and motioned for more. Hook passed the bottle. She skipped the mug and drank directly from the source, leaving a touch of lipstick where his mouth had been.

"Who does?" She said cleaning it off and giving it back.

"Fair point," Hook agreed and continued. "We sailed together for a time, and one day we returned to that same port—"

He stopped. Emma watched him struggle –head lowered, lips clenched and twisting. She wanted to help. He needed to say it. "What happened?" She said softly.

A sneer replaced the reminisce smile. He lifted his head; chin set defiantly. He fairly bristled. "The Dark One ripped her heart out and crushed it to dust," He said, teeth bared. "She died in my arms. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't help falling in love, and I couldn't stop her leaving. That's my happy ending." He took a long, fevered, gulp of whiskey. Some trickled down his chin. He yanked the bottle away and drew his sleeve defensively over his face, drying it.

Emma stared at him. "I had a partner." She said before thinking twice. "He's the father of my son. I loved him, but he betrayed and left me like the SOB he turned out to be. I sure couldn't stop that either. So, I get it." She recognized heartache when she saw it, and the anger of a victim. Emma thought of Graham. He was the first to come knocking on her wall, and she was fond of him. Like Milah, he had died in her arms. It was damn near traumatizing.

"Love sucks," She said. Hook didn't answer. He kept on studying the floor. Extending her foot, Emma nudged his leg. "I've tried seeing the bright side. I thought true love was worth the bad, so I must be crazy to doubt it. I tried to focus on the good memories, but they're all spoiled by the ending. So I say screw the ending –happy or sad! What matters is who you are. Are you strong enough to make it on your own? I want to be me first. I don't want to some old memories to make me, me –or anyone else. I won't be screwed over by love again. We're fighters Killian, we survive."

Hook looked up, surprised. It took her a beat to realize she had used his real name. His eyes found hers. "Too right, lass," He whispered, holding her gaze. Emma was lost inside it. He was so full of self-loathing and pain; it felt like looking in a mirror. The intensity inside spilled across his face stealing her breath.

He was so beautiful.

Hook broke the spell first. Taking the mug, he poured her some whiskey. "Here's to fighting." He raised the bottle in mock salute.

Emma picked up her cup and did the same. "And may we someday get smart and give up." They clinked ceramic and glass. Over the speakers, the new song came through clear:

_Every storm runs, runs out of rain. Just like every dark night turns into day. And every heartache fades away._

* * *

**TBC; THANKS GUYS! *End song lyrics from 'Every Storm (Runs Out of Rain)' by Gary Allan***


	7. So Sweet

**Chapter 7**

'_You made it so sweet, till I woke up on the concrete…'_

The rain reached its apex. A torrent of water pounding on the roof in fat drops that spilled from the diner gutters and splattered on the sidewalk. The sky was black with thunder. Lightning flashed every now and again, illuminating the blinds on every window. The florescent lights flickered. Emma glanced up at the ceiling. At least the stereo was still playing without a hitch. Steadily pumping out a Katy Perry song unhindered by the storm.

"Frightened, love?" Hook asked.

Emma shook her head, "I'm just warm." She had stopped drinking, but her mind was buzzing like a bees nest and her sweater was itching like a bitch. She needed it gone. Grabbing the hem, Emma pulled her shirt up, revealing the white tank top she wore. Yanking the fabric off her head, she suddenly remembered Hook was sitting beside her. Shit. She caught him giving her body an appreciative once over and flushed lightly. Now she was really warm, and embarrassed.

Or was it pleased?

No, definitely embarrassed.

_Yeah, um, that wasn't an accident, Emma._ Her inner voice chided her for pretending otherwise.

"Feel better?" Hook said. Either he noticed the effect of his appraisal, or he thought her actions were intentionally for him. Whatever the reason, he was smirking.

She dropped the sweater on the floor, determined not to be intimidated. "Yes, thanks."Emma said and returned to the trick she was performing to keep from blushing further. The trick was a simple law of physics she had learned during a waitressing stint in Tallahassee; involving a fork, spoon, toothpick, and half a glass of water. "First, you slip the spoon into the prongs of the fork…"

Hook was still wearing a trace of a mischievous smile, but he cordially moved his eyes back to her hands. He waited to see what it was, that she had deemed would impress him.

"Next, you use a toothpick—or a match. Don't use your car keys, because if they fall in it's a pain in the ass to get out." She knew he probably understood one tenth of what she was talking about, but if it bothered him, he never said. They were currently sharing one side of a small aisle table. Their chairs facing together, she had his undivided attention. He made her feel like the only person in the world who mattered.

"You shove this in there like so, and then put that here…and voilà!" She revealed the end result. The joined utensils dangled from the fragile stick; balancing off the edge of the glass, seeming to defy gravity.

Emma looked up, pleased, and saw another grin split Hook's face. The sight made her happier than she had been in a long time. Everything about his smile was captivating; thin, curving lips and even teeth. The latter had a ridiculous habit of pulling on the former, in just the right way and at all the right moments. He must have practiced those faces in a mirror. Despite the obvious, the reason she felt the urge to hold his hand wasn't from his unbelievable magnetism. No. It was because he was smiling _for_ her, not _at_ her, and all she had done was a stupid bar trick.

"You are brilliant." Hook said. He laughed. "You would make one _hell_ of a pirate."

Emma had heard this before, but now she understood. It wasn't an insult. He was paying her the highest compliment a man like him could offer. Not because he could change her or shape her into something he needed, but because he acknowledged and admired her for her. He needed her exactly as she was. And she needed him the same way.

"What do you want?" Emma asked suddenly. She noticed how piercing his eyes looked rimmed by that ever-loving guyliner. It sent her places.

Hook tipped his head to the side. The slight pull of his brow conveyed he had an answer, "Pardon?"

"A man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets." She repeated what he had said earlier. "What do you want?"

He hooked the front of her chair. Emma drew a breath as he jerked her nearer. Hook's gaze never left hers.

"I want you, Emma." He said. It was a tender and meaningful response, empty of the lust she usually equated with those three words. He made them sound honest, "And this is me," He added, "Fighting."

Emma was drawn to him; the cadence of his voice like magic. She reached out and touched the side of his face. She never had a man fight for her before. Her knuckles traced his jaw upward. Her life was the same old mantra of use or be used. Knights in Shining armor, who fought dragons for the princesses, only existed in the fairytale worlds she had just recently been awoken too. She moved her hand to his hair. Her fingers teased him gently. Granted, Hook was no knight, and his armor was more studded leather than shiny metal, but he was here. Proving he was willing to fight all her dragons to keep her safe.

He was here.

His gaze grew more intense with each twirl of her fingers, but the sincerity in it never changed. His hook carefully caught hold of her extended arm. The steel was cold, but not unpleasant. Emma held her breath, on the edge of her seat. They were close. Close enough for either of them to cross the gap in a heartbeat. She saw him much clearer now than in the shadows by her car. His brilliant blue eyes studied her mouth, asking permission. The dark stubble on his chin begged for attention. She wanted to feel it against her skin again. She found herself staring at his mouth too, suddenly terrified. With her luck, it was all bound to go south. It always did.

_That's not why you're alone._

"Frightened, love?" Hook repeated, more serious than before.

Somehow, he always knew. "It's the storm…" She breathed.

"Liar," He said. His hand clasped the back of her neck. He pulled her forward and kissed her soundly on the mouth.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. His kiss left her breathless. It was unlike anything she ever had experienced. Hook's lips were warm and eager, moving expertly over hers with confidence. She liked to think it was by natural talent alone, but she had an idea he got a lot of practice. Oh, well, he was a pirate after all, and she couldn't complain. His practice was serving to drown her in a world of spine tingling sensations.

The kiss deepened, growing more demanding, more possessive. Emma tasted whiskey and rum on his lips, like charcoal and burnt caramel. He smelled faintly of ocean and detergent. At least she knew he'd stolen a clean shirt. She hadn't realized before just how badly she ached for him, and as each wave of pleasure crashed over her, the ache grew worse. Her hands found anchor on his knees, and she pressed her palms against his jeans in fear of toppling into his lap.

Was this how it was meant to feel? He was a solid tower, and she was the princess held captive inside. She was yielding again, breaking every promise to herself in one fell swoop. But he made it so sweet…

Emma leaned into him with a moan. Hook's teeth grazed her bottom lip sending a pulse through her body. Her fingers curled, digging into his legs, and she didn't want it to end. She wanted to stay in this perfect moment forever, feeling his desperation, pain, and loneliness melting away with her own.

But it did end. When Hook drew back, her eyelids fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was the expression of wonder on his face.

"Bloody hell, Swan," He whispered. His voice sounded shaky, amazed. Emma thrilled with satisfaction at knowing she had been better than he expected. She was making a habit out of besting Killian Jones.

He was still close enough for her to feel the reassuring warmth of his breath washing over her. She inhaled it slowly. He ran his thumb across her moist lips as he cupped the side of her cheek. Emma reveled in his touch, a touch that could never hurt her. He lifted his hook off her arm and brushed aside a stray lock of hair. The steel tip traced her ear, guiding her tresses behind it.

"I told you we make quite a team," Hook said, smugly.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."

"How charm—" He started, but she silenced him with a second kiss.

This time, he let her take the lead. Emma pressed her mouth gently to his. She wanted to convey the emotion he stirred in her. Taking his face between both her hands, she caressed him softly, first his bottom lip, then the top. Leaving to trail kisses elsewhere, she paused to pay special attention to the scar along his cheekbone. Emma was just getting started when her gaze strayed over his shoulder. In the corner of her vision, she spotted a clock on a shelf above the jukebox.

The long hand ticked once. The clock struck twelve.

"_We talk, and when the clock strikes twelve, if you still desire me gone, I'll leave you alone forever."_ Hook's words came rushing back to her like a slap in the face.

"_We talk…"_

Suddenly, she was wide awake; reality rushing in on her, slamming her rudely down on the concrete.

_Talk._

_Son of a bitch!_ This time it was her own voice speaking –not the conscience that prodded her like the fairy godmother from hell. Anger filled her, it had all gone south.

And Emma did what she did best:

She pushed away.

* * *

**TBC; Thanks again to everyone who reads and/or reviews, favs, follows, etc. I really appreciate it!**


	8. Letting Go

**Chapter 8**

'_I'm not blind anymore…I'm letting go tonight…'_

"What are you doing?"

Emma pulled back in her chair, her hands retreating into her lap. She was barely conscious of Hook's concerned voice as she stared at the clock on the wall. She didn't notice him reaching for her until his fingertips brushed her hand, and she flinched, withdrawing immediately. Her skin still hurt from their kiss. Her whole body ached for him, like blood flow warming a frostbitten limb. She couldn't let him touch her now, not while everything was falling together with such clarity. Not when the whole evening suddenly made sense.

How could she have been so blind?

"I…I can't." Emma managed to say and stood. Her knees were weak, and her heart still beat an intense rhythm against her ribs. Her fingers tugged anxiously at her ponytail yanking the rubber band free. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders like a shield. She distanced herself from the table, grasping the edge of the countertop for support. Behind her, Hook repeated the question.

"What are you doing?"

His chair creaked; he was getting up. "I can't…" She said again, unable to get beyond those first two words.

"You can't what, darling?" He came nearer, and she moved to avoid him. Hook stopped short. "Emma? Look at me."

Her fingernails dragged across the Formica surface. The entire situation felt eerily familiar. Her last hours with Hook blipped past her vision like a slide film. Everything made sense; his hand on her waist, his chest on her shoulders, his laugh, his eyes, his interest! He had played her like a six string guitar, and she'd bought it all. Including his sob story about a woman named Milah. And for what? Men like Hook never stayed longer than one night. They deserted her with strangers, or they left her in prison, but they never stayed.

Talk her ass. The sneaky son of a bitch had something else up his sleeve.

"I can't believe I fell for this." Emma scoffed, turning to face him.

Hook frowned. "Fell for what?"

"All of this." She said. "Whatever you're planning, it isn't gonna happen."

"What precisely are you implying?"

What was she implying? Anger swelled in the pit of her stomach. No one _ever_ came back for her. Unless it was for something she could do in return, like break a curse, or find a heart, or even make a stupid hat! So why had he come back, except to exact vengeance for leaving him atop the beanstalk? He knew her fear of abandonment. If their roles were reversed, exploiting her attraction for him and then disappearing –seemed like a damn good way to repay her betrayal. That's what she was implying!

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, and glared hard as nails. _Tough, lass._ That's what Hook had called her once. And he had no idea just how tough she could be. No one was going to use her again. "You manipulative little bastard," She growled. "If this is your idea of revenge—"

Hook slammed his palm down on the countertop. The action was abrupt and violent. It silenced her instantly. Emma's lips closed in a thin line. Her ego wounded at how fast he could take control. A dark veil dropped behind his eyes. She'd struck a nerve.

"For someone who requires truth from others," He stepped closer. "You are very good at denying yourself the same virtue."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Emma said, uneasy. He was too near.

His jaw flexed. He was about to say something that would completely unseat her. "Stop trying to make this about me. If I were to take revenge on you, _Emma_, you would know it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

And it worked. Something in his tone caused her breath to catch. Captain Hook was in. The man she had kissed, the man called Jones, was out. The way he fluctuated between the two was morbidly fascinating and mildly exciting.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Emma cried. "You can't use people to get what you want. It isn't right. I don't care who you are!"

Hook smirked. A smile so dry and humorless she nearly shriveled beneath it. "And therein lies the truth, you do care who I am."

"I don't care! I never have—"

"Ah, but you do." He snapped. "And we both know that scares the living hell out of you."

Emma stared at him, her gaze just as heated and angry as his. Even in moments of pure frustration she could still get lost in those beautiful blue eyes.

When she didn't refute him (how could she, it was the truth), he pressed on. "Shall I enlighten you, Princess?"

"You don't know jack about me." She said. A faint attempt at convincing herself, she didn't care what he thought.

"You're afraid you aren't good enough for love." Hook continued. "Everyone leaves you, why? Since you're the common denominator in any and all relationships, ergo it must be your fault. They leave because you're not worth it."

But she did care.

"Nice deducting, Sherlock." Emma gritted through her teeth, stung by his words. "Anyone who's spent time with _rejected_ children would know that."

"I'm not finished." Hook said. "You love too deeply. You fear if you ever found _true _love—because, let's face it sweetheart, neither of us has before—you would fail miserably at keeping it. You can't trust yourself. Letting someone in means going back down that rabbit hole of self-doubt, and you're afraid you may never come out. Tell me, am I getting warm yet?"

She struggled to breathe. "You think you're so smart."

But Hook wasn't impressed with himself. He was dead serious. "You guard against pain and disappointment, but by ignoring even the possibility of happiness in love, you're breaking your own heart."

"Maybe feeling nothing is a best, when it always ends up sucking." Emma whispered.

"No one knows that better than I," Hook said earnestly. "And trust me, it isn't."

Trust me. Those words coming from his lips insulted her. "You said we were going to talk."

"We did—"

"One lousy story about Mr. Gold ripping a woman's heart out and you think everything is alright? You expected me to believe that bull?!"

"It wasn't a story."

"Yeah, and last I checked, the definition of talking didn't include kissing someone either!"

"Was it so repulsive to you?"

"Yes!"

It was the biggest lie in history. Emma turned and walked to the dartboard. Her whole body trembled. The realization she wasn't disgusted or angry with the kiss, set her on the defensive. She didn't even know why he was here!

_Don't slam the door. _It was about time her inner-twit weighed in on the discussion. Emma ignored it.

They stood apart. The CD changer had spun its last disc, and only the reverberation of thunder could be heard.

"You're not upset because I kissed you," Hook said, breaking the silence, his voice taunting and bitter. "You're upset because you kissed me back and _liked_ it. My, my, Emma, how fickle we are. Tsk- tsk."

Her face flushed at his arrogant chiding. She spun around. "Shut up. You took advantage of this whole thing with your touchy-feely _crap_! I don't want it!"

"Did I?" Hook was suddenly two feet in front her; his long legs eating up the gap between them, his expression immutable. "I could have had you, right here, on this floor, twice, and you wouldn't have fought an inch. I gave you what you wanted, and now you haven't a clue what to do with it. That's the bloody truth! Isn't it, _Swan_?"

A fresh tide of anger washed through her. Like hell she wouldn't fight!

"You jerk—"Emma swung her fist and punched him. Hard. In the face. Catching him for the first time (and probably last) totally off guard. Hook stumbled roughly backward. He tried to stop himself from falling, and grabbed a nearby table. A glass saltshaker tumbled to the floor, smashing in half as he landed on one knee.

She watched him pick himself up. So what if he was right? He deserved a good decking! The vulgarity in his statement hurt worse than her knuckles, just how he'd intended. The kiss had revealed the attraction she felt for him as more than purely physical. He kindled something deep inside her, unlike anything she had ever encountered.

If it wasn't lust, what was it?

Love? They hardly knew each other. It couldn't be love.

"Why are you here?" Emma cradled her hand. She was going to have a mother of a bruise, but not near as big as the ones he would have if he didn't come clean.

His bottom lip was bleeding. Hook pressed his fingers against his mouth for a second, and then pulled them away, frowning ruefully down at the blood on his skin.

"This was a mistake." He said. Instead of bitterness, she heard nothing but defeat. He wouldn't look at her. "Apparently, I'm not quite adept at making you understand."

"Understand, what?" Emma asked in exasperation.

Hook lifted his head. To her surprise, she saw nothing of Killian or the Captain in him. What she saw was a boy. A boy who must have been wishing at that instant he had never grown up.

"I love you, Emma."

Her heart skipped a beat, "Excuse me?"

"I love you." He repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I have from the first moment we met."

She shook her head. "That's not—"

"It's why I found you again." He sounded almost desperate. "I needed to tell you—"

"Then why didn't you just _say_ so?!"

He looked her straight in the eye, "Because you feel the same way, but you weren't ready to hear it!"

It was Emma's turn for a punch in the face, albeit metaphorical. She felt stunned. Did she feel the same? No, love didn't work on a first sight basis! But she couldn't help marveling at how he had brought her to the point of considering it. Earlier that night, the idea of loving Killian had been the farthest thing from her mind. Now, it stuck there like a splinter.

Damn pirate.

"This isn't love." She said softly, like a mother persuading her child there was no such thing as a monster under the bed.

The hope in his eyes snuffed out like a candle. "You still deny your heart?"

"My heart has nothing to do with it. It's reality. We don't even know each other."

"Darling, we _are_ each other." Hook held her gaze for a moment longer, "Ask yourself one question, why did you leave me on that beanstalk?"

Emma faltered, reminded of all the times she _had_ asked herself. "I…"

"Please, don't. I know the truth. It is you who needs the answer." Reaching into his hip pocket, Hook he pulled out her car keys. Emma's stomach tightened as he laid them on the table. "Well, Swan girl, it seems you've bested me yet again. I said what I came to say, and as promised tick-tock," He gestured with his hook at the clock, "I'll leave you."

She watched him gather his coat from the counter and shoulder it on.

_Don't let him go like this. Not again._

"Remember," He walked to the front door and pulled it open. The rain drummed steadily on the sidewalk. "This isn't Neverland. You need to grow up sometime. Don't stay in the past forever. Not even the mighty Emma Swan is meant to be alone." He paused and gave her a look so sad, her heart broke in two.

"I'm sorry." Hook added. And then he was gone.

* * *

**TBC; Thanks guys! **


	9. Castles Crumbling

**Chapter 9**

'_Thunder rumbling, castles crumbling, I'm wide awake…'_

He left, and the warmth in the room went with him; leaving behind an empty void that almost consumed her whole. Emma had never felt lonelier in her life. The closed blinds on the door blocked her view. She couldn't see him disappear into the night, like a storybook cliché swallowed by the dark. Her mind swam with confusion. She should be relieved! Hook was out of her hair forever, but instead of happiness, something inside her withered at the thought.

What had she done?

Emma stood in the middle of Granny's, nothing but the sound of the storm, and her own steady breathing for company. The surrealism made her wondered if Hook had been there at all. One half of her was convinced she was dreaming, back home in her bed, but the other half knew better. The other half knew she was wide awake, and the stupid, infuriating, gorgeous, brilliant, understanding SOB named Hook was gone for good.

_And it's your fault._

The universe had come full circle. She was back where she belonged, just her and her accusatory thoughts. "I didn't have a choice." Emma said aloud.

_You always have a choice, and you always choose to be alone._

She bristled. Always choose to be alone? That wasn't a choice; it was a fact of her existence! Since birth, her destiny was to be by her lonesome. She hadn't asked for it, and she didn't want it either, but being alone was a part of her past, present, and inevitably her future. "That isn't my fault."

_Oh, no? Your non-existent parents, absent guardian, and traitorous boyfriend aren't the ones who gave up Henry and let Killian walk out the door. You did, it's your fault. _

This stopped her. She had spent years blaming everyone else for her misery, and it never once occurred to her that she had the power to change it. Emma was guilty of doing what she despised the most. She had, in short, sold her son to a stranger, and deserted the one man willing to trust her implicitly.

Emma Swan was effectively ruining her own life, and there was no excuse for it. "I can't be the person I was before." She said. "I can't love like that, not again."

_No one is asking you too, but it doesn't mean you should deny yourself a second chance. Give love your best shot, and you might be surprised. It doesn't have to suck, just look at your parents._

"They keep losing each other."

_But they never give up._

Give up? Is that what she was doing? Emma prided herself on determination. She survived for twenty-eight years on iron will-power, meeting every challenge with the heel of a well placed boot, but no matter how tough she was, when it came to love, she was a straight up coward.

_Love is strength. It takes courage to open up and care about someone else; to accept the good with the bad, and keep fighting. _

Emma knew this was the true. Loving Neal had given her a precious son, loving her son had broken a curse, and loving her mother had defeated Cora on the bank of Lake Nostos. What better proof of strength was there?

Hook was correct; no one was meant to be alone, not even her. Deep down she knew it was true, hence her prodding conscience! It was the reason she had let him take her keys, and the reason she had consented to talk –being with him felt right. She had been searching for this pirate all along, and she hadn't even known she was looking. Now, thanks to him, Emma was prepared to face the truth.

She had abandoned him on the beanstalk because he roused a curiosity in her; the same curiosity, which kept her in the car with Neal so many years ago. From the first moment their eyes met, as he lay on his back in the dirt, feigning scared, a part of her she had long since buried suddenly awoke. Going to retrieve the compass with him, only served to ignite these feelings further. He proved to be courteous and kind, brave and a little bit cheeky. There was mystery too, and a sadness similar to her own. Emma wanted to get to know him, and for him to know her, which was terrifying. How could any man be trusted with her heart? Neal had certainly squandered the privilege.

But Hook hadn't lied. He may have told a fib or two (a one-handed blacksmith, really?), yet when the chips were down he was honest. Emma never doubted he would be anything less, although, outwardly, she bluffed a good game. Hoping by sheer denial, she could rebuff the feelings he stirred within her. She forced herself to believe he was a ruthless, egotistical, villain (and in many ways he was). Only because she was too afraid of herself –petrified of repeating the past, of loving too deeply, and falling too hard. Snapping the manacle shut about his wrist was purely self-defense.

For eleven years, Emma had unwittingly trapped herself inside a dungeon. Fashioning a stone fortress, like a castle, about her heart for safety, she had succeeded in blocking the only magic this world had to offer, but no more. She wasn't the kid any longer; she was a confident and capable woman. She could handle this. The hairline cracks in her foundation were about to bust wide open, and she was ready, ready to surrender.

_I have to find him._

Emma was unaware her feet were moving until she was out the door. Cold raindrops hit her bare shoulders as she hurried down the diner steps; the soles of her boots slapped the water-glossed sidewalk. Stepping off the curb and into a puddle, she trotted out onto Main Street. Pausing on the double yellow line, beneath the swaying traffic light, Emma looked left. Through the rain, she could see blurred silhouettes of buildings and parked vehicles, but no Hook. Her wet hair clung to her face and neck like limp spaghetti. She pushed it back in frustration with both hands; her fingernails digging her scalp. She was numb to everything—the chilly air, her soaked tank top—save for an overwhelming sense of desperation filling her chest. Her lips parted in a strangled sob, and she looked right, her gaze straining to search everywhere at once.

Then she saw him; a tall, dark, figure, partially veiled by the ire of the storm, walking away down the middle of the road. Her heart flipped up into her throat with all the grace of a slippery fish.

"Hook!" She said. Taking a tentative step forward, she waited for him to acknowledge.

But he kept on walking, shoulders hunched; a black smudge in the pouring rain. Her blood pounded in her ears. He had heard her; they were close enough for her voice to carry. Why didn't he answer?! All of a sudden, Emma was scared. And it wasn't fear of trust, or the past. It was the fear of losing the one man that was worth _everything_ to her. She didn't even care what tomorrow would bring. He could be gone in the morning, and it wouldn't change the fact that she needed him. She loved him with a pure and simple love, like a fairytale, innocent yet filled with fierce possibility. And she wouldn't lose him, not like this.

Emma ran.

"Killian!" She screamed his name, and this time, he turned. Thunder rumbled. The storm gathered one last burst of energy, and a crack of lightning split the sky, striking the metal rod above the clock tower. The flash illuminated his face; his brilliant blue eyes veritable fire, his skin pale white. Water streamed from his hair down into his collar; dripping off his nose and chin.

He was so beautiful.

Emma didn't wait for permission. With a small whimper, she threw herself into his arms, locking hers about his neck in a hug to end all hugs. He caught her, lifting her off the ground as she clung to him; holding her close as if his life depended on this very thing. His hand was broad and solid as it grasped her waist. She pressed her cheek to his, reveling in the feel of him surrounding her, strong and safe.

"I'm so sorry." Emma whispered in his ear. Her fingers balled into fists and her nails bit her palms as she clutched him. "Please, don't let me go."

Hook set her back on the pavement so she could look him in the eyes. He kept an arm about her, and moved his hand to her face, tugging gently at the fringes of her wet hair. "Never, I will _always_ choose you."

A surge of affection swept through Emma. That was all she wanted to hear. "I love you, Killian Jones." She said. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, mingling with the rain. "I love you."

Her body was wide awake with the tumult of emotions he—and those three little words—released inside her. She could tell they had the same effect on him. The intensity of his gaze changed –he was through with hugs and sweet gestures. In one swift movement, he hefted her up again. The curve of his hook supported her from beneath as her legs wrapped comfortably around him. Emma looked down curiously, rivulets of water passing from her to him. She could feel their ardent excitement entwining, and it was enough to send her over the edge. Taking his face in both palms, she kissed him with every ounce of passion she could muster.

Hook's hand reclaimed her hair. His fingers tangled in her damp tresses, and he held her head, keeping her steady as he responded, indulging her with equal fervor. Emma tasted the remnants of blood on his lips, blood she had drawn with a punch, and realized, they both had a lot to learn about each other. But at least this was a start. They were selfish, headstrong, and damaged, but together they were whole –two kindred spirits. She craved him as one half-a-heart to another. They needed each other like rain on dry ground, and thanks to his creativity she could see it at last. For the first time in her life, Emma was willing to give herself a chance. The castle wall she had hid behind for far too long was crumbling to dust. She wouldn't be alone any longer.

"Come home with me, Killian." She said, pulling away from the kiss. The warmth of his lips still tingled on hers.

He grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief and hope, "Always."

The rain was falling softly now, the storm abating. Emma rested her forehead to his and smiled. The pirate had finally taken the princess, and she would never let him go.

**The End**

* * *

**Hey, guys! I'm so sorry this took forever to update, but thanks for sticking with me :) Your tremendous support has been wonderful, and I'd like to wish you all a (early) Merry Captain Swan Christmas! **


End file.
